


like night you'll disappear

by decompository



Series: feel this burning, love of mine [4]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, What's new, emotionally constipated Asami
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 15:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15952403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decompository/pseuds/decompository
Summary: Akihito has been staring at the same place for a long time. He seems otherworldly like this; lit by artificial lights, eyes darker than the midnight sky, and blood streaked across his white shirt.Asami wants to touch him.Just a simple touch of skin. Maybe that will be enough in this moment, maybe Akihito will finally look alive.





	like night you'll disappear

The streaks of Tokyo’s fluorescent flights cascade across the window, casting shadows of blue and pink stripes across Akihito’s face. The car is mostly silent, only the gentle hum of the heater in the background that almost fades into nothing. 

 

Akihito has been staring at the same place for a long time. He seems otherworldly like this; lit by artificial lights, eyes darker than the midnight sky, and blood streaked across his white shirt. 

 

Asami wants to touch him. 

 

Just a simple touch of skin. Maybe that will be enough in this moment, maybe Akihito will finally look alive. 

 

He’s contemplating. Thinking about something but seemingly nothing at the same time and it unnerves Asami. He’s seen Akihito silent: when he’s concentrating on work, editing photos and videos, or simply enamoured with a movie he’s seen a million times. 

 

But not like this; all consumed and barely human, a husk of who he is. 

 

“Akihito,” he whispers. Akihito can barely hear him. He doesn’t respond. 

 

The brain is an enigma, built for self defense against viruses and infections but not  _ yourself _ . He isn’t the self deprecating kind, but tonight has tested him on levels beyond what he thought possible. 

 

The moment plays again, in his mind, for the thousandth time since they were ushered into the black car. 

 

There was a kidnapping, a commotion as Asami was knocked to his knees and Akihito had lunged, wrestled for a good five seconds before the gun was in his hand. It was so cold. It felt so right. 

 

Pulling the trigger was a second reaction, a mere afterthought against the haziness of panic and desperation and Asami was  _ on his knees, coughing up blood--  _

 

“Akihito,” Asami mumbles again. 

 

Akihito finally looks at him. A hand places itself on top of his, large and warm and comforting. It’s warm in the way the heater lacks; less stuffy and grounding. 

 

_ What are you thinking about?, _ Asami wants to ask.  _ Tell me about it, don’t keep it inside, talk to me, it’s not your fault.  _

 

_ It’s not your fault.  _

 

“We’re almost home.” He chooses instead. Empathy is a weakness, but hesitation is cowardly. Hesitation gets you killed in the grand scheme of everything; cards aren’t dealt with care but fervour, and Asami has branded that into his mind and body. 

 

But Akihito has always been different, from the moment he leapt off the roof and dangled in the air, bidding the devil to chase him. 

 

Akihito meets his eyes wordlessly, mouth still drawn downwards with guilt. This isn’t his first time taking a life, but it hurts all the same, because Akihito isn’t pure, but he is full of love. Full of light. 

 

“Do you think he had a family?” Akihito says and glances downwards. It’s rhetorical, and Asami thinks of the man’s blank stare and the blood stuck in the cracks in the gravel. They’ll never get all of it out; it’s an eternal imprint on reality. 

 

“Maybe.” Asami answers. The hand on Akihito curls, clutching on. “But it was him or you. Or me. It’s natural to…” He trails off. The words don’t come to him, can’t come to him. 

 

How does he comfort someone who takes joy in the small things? The drips of coffee in the morning, the freshness of new sheets? The soft kisses he gives every morning? 

 

Asami falters. Maybe he can’t comfort Akihito. 

 

“It’s not your fault.” He says. Says, or maybe pleads, or maybe urges. Maybe it’s all three. Akihito looks at him again then, blank and heartbroken and so, so small. 

 

Without a word, he unbuckles his belt and climbs into Asami’s lap. It’s uncharacteristic, but nothing about this situation is normal and Akihito  _ trembles.  _ Asami thinks back to the yacht, the fresh wound in his shoulder and fresher wound inside his chest, and the man he thought he lost. 

 

Asami doesn’t want to lose him again. 

 

Tenderness isn’t easy for him, but Akihito has smoothed his rough edges enough for Asami to wind his arms around him. He tucks him under his chin, presses his face into Akihito’s hair, and aches with him. 

 

They have each other, at least. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> song: 1899-12-31 
> 
> asami can u, like, just give him a proper hug. maybe a therapist too boi you've got the money


End file.
